


Occurring in Profusion

by blehgah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 23:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21279293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: Soonyoung gets to experience many a fine thing in his line of work. Chan happens to be the finest.





	Occurring in Profusion

**Author's Note:**

> hullo, i chose hozier's "nobody" for this round! i made a playlist for this round [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5YTxFsiqbfCb39vkOszyrE?si=sVQi2w0CTj-_8pFhcaiR5Q)!
> 
> thanks to the mods for hosting this lovely fic event and being lovely in general.

They still find time to work out while they’re touring overseas, usually at a hotel gym. It’s become a requirement when booking these days. Jihoon and Seungcheol are usually the ones who go over the checklist with their managers. Jihoon knows the name of every piece of equipment they like to use and has even started learning some of the foreign names for them. Seungcheol is there mainly to keep the peace.

Unfortunately, hotel gyms tend to be a bit smaller than dedicated places. Soonyoung, Jihoon, and Seokmin make up the current team occupying the space, with another roster already hanging out by some benches against the wall.

“You’re gonna bust your pants if you keep doing squats, Seokmin-ah,” Mingyu calls from his seat.

Seokmin wobbles with a laugh, as well as the barbell balanced over his shoulders.

“You’re so transparent with your jealousy,” Minghao comments beside Mingyu. “You’re never gonna have thighs or an ass like him, you know.”

Mingyu’s cheeks puff with the volume of his indignation. “And what the hell are you even doing here? You don’t work out,” he sneers in reply.

Minghao lifts an eyebrow. Then, a smile slithers over his lips. “I’m here to hang out with my dear friends, of course,” he says.

Seokmin drops the barbell, safely, onto the floor, and his laughter echoes with the clang of metal against carpeted concrete. Jihoon crowds him to verify his safety, but he ends up laughing as well, clinging to Seokmin’s elbow and pointing at Seokmin’s contorted face.

“Alright, boys, guess our turn’s up,” Jihoon declares once they’ve caught their breath. Soonyoung huffs a laboured breath and whips his hair out of his eyes.

“You better wipe down the bars,” Mingyu chides. 

“Yessir,” is Jihoon’s slurred reply. Mingyu hands him some sanitizing towels.

“Oh,” Minghao calls out to no one in particular, “one of the manager hyungs booked the spa room and said there’s a whole massage special ready for you guys now.”

“There’s a spa room in this place?” Jihoon asks.

“Yes, hyung,” Minghao replies, “it’s part of the recreational, like, wing—right next door to the gym, actually.”

“That makes sense.” Jihoon hums. “Guess I just didn’t notice.”

“We can go and then get dinner after,” Seokmin suggests.

“Fuck yes.”

Mingyu whines. “You’re not gonna wait for us?” he asks, his pout a dangerous high note.

Jihoon regards Mingyu with a blank expression. It does nothing to deter the fierce unhappiness painted into the perfect picture of pity, something cinematically melancholy.

“You better not take too long,” Jihoon says eventually.

Minghao takes Jihoon’s hand in one of his, long fingers curling over Jihoon’s like decorative ivy.

“Hyung,” Minghao says, and damn, the 97z have really perfected their sweet-talking game. “I will make sure to keep them on their best behaviour.”

Jihoon’s teeth shine with a dangerous glint when he grins.

“I’m counting on you, Eissa-sshi,” he says.

The reception area for the spa room is, simply put, picturesque. It looks like something right out of a travel catalogue: the wood framing the shoji is deep yet bright at the same time; the low lights cast gentle, airbrushed shadows at their feet; and a carefully placed smattering of potted plants give the room just the right pop of colour. Soonyoung’s skin already feels cleansed just standing there.

Soonyoung takes the helm when it comes to coordinating with the technicians since he has the most confidence in his Japanese and somehow, it leads him to getting a solo room. There are candles and just the slightest hint of incense, like it had been burning an hour or so before he entered. It’s soft but atmospheric; it brings upon him a sense of tranquility and luxurious softness he’s yet to experience.

It’s strange to strip off his street clothes, his gym clothes that cling to his body much like the fatigue starting to lap at his nerves, in such a large, pristine room. The space surrounding him makes him feel small. His head twitches on his shoulders. His eyes flicker frequently to the door with the expectation of a stylist’s or makeup-artist’s entry.

Eventually, he finds himself sitting on a bench in soft cotton underclothes and a linen robe over his shoulders. He catches glimpses of his reflection in a mirror on the wall opposite to him; the low light paints him a new creature made up of earthy hues cut with the too-bright yellows and whites of electric lights. The colours are muddled, human, against the perfect lines of the furniture.

He feels very small. The arrangement of browns, yellows, pinks, and reds in the mirror shift with his nervous energy. Transitory images on the edge of his vision.

A technician enters the room. He is instructed to stretch out over a bed once removing his robe. Several scents mix and mingle in the air. Names of flowers and oils trail into one another, flowing off the tongue of the technician in a strange but pleasant melody.

They make simple, pleasant conversation, and the vibration of their voices offsets the buzzing of his nerves under his skin. He’s never super great with strangers when he’s alone. 

Time melts by much like the oils and lotions over his skin. Sensation is malleable, as are thoughts, perception. And what he feels, experiences, is luxury through and through, but he cannot map it, cannot define it in a way that is tangible. The feeling is elusive as he deals mainly in the concrete, the physical. But perspective is set into place by its peripheries, its opposites.

When the original gym group reconvenes in the reception area, with fresh, pink faces and looser shoulders, they discuss their dinner plans.

Minghao, who decided to opt out of the spa special, grins with wolfish teeth.

“The receptionist undressed Mingyu with her eyes,” he drawls. “It was so fucking hilarious.”

“When I said I wanted to discuss dinner, I meant that in a more literal sense,” Jihoon deadpans.

Minghao holds up his hands. “I just wanted to put it out there before we got too distracted,” he replies.

“Anyway,” Jihoon says pointedly, “there are a couple of places in the area, but they’re pretty pricey. But, considering where we are right now, it might be nice to carry on that luxury feel, right?”

Seokmin reminisces about their trip to Japan years ago for One Fine Day and Jihoon hums and haws about the idea of trying more traditional food.

“I feel like something so hot and rich is gonna make me break out,” Minghao mutters.

“But broth like that has to be healthy,” Seokmin argues. “It’s gotta have, like, tons of minerals from all the bones and shit.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Why not?” Seokmin’s brow is furrowed into his eyes. 

“What about the people who didn’t go to the gym with us today?” Soonyoung asks. The gathering of people in the reception area feels too small, missing limbs or other appendages.

“I texted them, don’t worry,” Jihoon says with a dismissive and loose wrist. “It’s not like they’re doing anything but sleeping right now, anyway.”

“Except for Chan,” Seokmin says. “He went back to working on Danceology stuff, but he says he should be able to make dinner.”

“He should have plenty of time,” Jihoon says. “I felt like that massage was a lifetime long. Not that I’m complaining,” he adds with a bark of a laugh.

The conversation returns to food as they drift towards a gathering of armchairs and other seats. Soonyoung slips his phone out of his pocket and opens his text thread with Chan.

[Soonyoung]: you’re working on our day off?

Soonyoung has time to rejoin the conversation in front of him and contribute some weightless comments before Chan texts him back.

[Chan]: this is how i like to relax on our days off   
[Chan]: i’ll put it all away by the time we go to dinner, i promise   
[Chan]: i just wanted to reshoot some stuff while we had time   
[Soonyoung]: no need to explain yourself to me or make any kind of promise, channie   
[Soonyoung]: would you be interested in a second opinion or are you good?   
[Chan]: actually i’d love that   
[Chan]: if you want, of course

“Guys, do you remember what room Chan is staying in?” Soonyoung asks.

Minghao gives him the information. Soonyoung gets to his feet with a quick wave and no one blinks an eye at him.

* * *

Chan has set up camp in his room with a laptop and a camera. Some of the furniture in the room has been pushed against the wall, carved out space for Chan’s restless feet.

Stepping into the room feels like coming home. The rhythm of Chan’s heartbeat is a landmark that represents familiarity like nothing else, like years spent breathing in each other’s orbits, like days and nights learning the shape of each other’s silhouettes. The room is unfamiliar, starkly minimalist like any hotel fixture, but the air in it tastes familiar to Soonyoung’s palate, and the way it spreads over his tongue immerses him in warmth.

“Oh, Chan,” Soonyoung murmurs to himself.

The man in question is sitting at a desk, bent over in his chair, one arm on the table and his chin balanced against his palm. Chan isn’t the best at handling technology, much like Soonyoung himself, but he took some time to familiarize himself with several video and editing programs.

“Hyung,” Chan says without looking up. “This fucking laptop sucks and keeps freezing on me.”

A smile comes to Soonyoung’s face, easy as ever, despite the clear frustration that grows spines out of Chan’s lips.

“You need a break,” Soonyoung replies.

Chan grits his teeth before pushing his chair away from the desk. The chair rolls about a metre away before coming to a stop.

Chan looks up at Soonyoung.

“I heard you got a spa treatment,” he says. His brow furrows. “You smell… medicine-y. Medicinal.”

Soonyoung grins at him. He takes a few steps into the room and the air bends to his wake, yielding like clay under guiding fingertips, and the space between Chan and Soonyoung becomes narrow.

Chan blinks. Soonyoung admires the shape of Chan’s eyelashes against the corners of his eyes.

“There were a lot of oils involved,” Soonyoung tells him. “Herb extracts. Flower petals. The whole deal.”

Chan wheels the chair closer and leans in. Soonyoung feels his heart melt as Chan’s body heat approaches; he feels his ribcage unhinge as his heart reaches for Chan’s warmth.

“It’s nice,” is Chan’s simple statement.

Soonyoung’s smile softens, snow giving way to direct sunlight, and he says, “You should have come with us.”

Chan inhales. His brow remains furrowed. Then, he leans away, back into the seat of his chair, shoulders slumped against the back support, boneless and exuding fatigue.

“Next time,” Chan says airily. 

“I was all alone with the massage technician,” Soonyoung says, pouting.

“Boohoo. I’m so sorry you got their full attention for some handful of hours while you got slathered with expensive oils.”

Soonyoung pouts and collapses onto the nearest bed.

“Your sarcasm stings, maknae-ya,” he laments.

“Did you come here to help or not?” Chan asks in reply.

“Take a break first, Channie.”

“I told you I’d stop for today once we went for dinner. I still have some time to work on this before then.”

Soonyoung sighs. He curls his legs at the knee and lifts his chest to face Chan.

“Alright,” Soonyoung concedes. “Show me.”

“And I was thinking,” Chan says, “I could do it with the water at my back, you know. Since we’re by the sea.”

“That sounds nice,” Soonyoung replies.

Chan sighs. “Do you even care?” he asks.

Soonyoung gives a mock gasp and puts a hand over his chest.

“How could you even say such a thing?” he replies.

Chan rolls his eyes before rolling onto the bed. With his back flat on the mattress, he looks up at Soonyoung, an arm slung over his head.

“You still smell very strongly like medicine,” Chan tells him. “I think it’s probably gonna stay on your clothes for a couple of weeks or something.”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Is it bad?” he asks.

Chan presses his lips together. He shakes his head, slowly. “No, it’s…” He trails off and shakes his head again. “I kinda like it.”

Soonyoung smiles. “Want this shirt?”

Chan rolls his eyes. He rolls forward to put his face in Soonyoung’s shirt, nose against Soonyoung’s belly.

“Maybe,” he mutters.

“How about I give you a massage myself,” Soonyoung says. “My treat for such a hardworker.”

“If this is your way of asking for sex while we’re alone, I think you can do better.”

“We don’t have time for sex while I’m at my most seductive.”

“God, you really think you’re all that, don’t you?”

“Of course. You have high standards and you settle for me, so my dick must be at least good quality.”

Chan muffles a laugh into the fabric of Soonyoung’s shirt. He settles onto his back again before he reaches for the front of Soonyoung’s shirt. It’s an easy motion, tugging Soonyoung down to Chan’s mouth, and Soonyoung bends to it eagerly. Soonyoung frames Chan’s hips with his knees and Chan’s ears with his elbows and their edges overlap and blur together. It’s deconstruction, compression, a simplifying and combining at once. The taste is exquisite and complex and Soonyoung could never compare it to the experience back at the spa, filled with untangibly lush fragrances and textures, would never dream of it.

Chan sighs against Soonyoung’s mouth, pulling away, adjusting to accommodate more of Soonyoung’s weight. Their hips brush, hard angles, before they slot their thighs together into something supple and pliant. Between layers of fabric and skin and muscle and fat, they find comfort. Nothing compares.

Fingers tangle in hair and lips press against skin. Soonyoung presses his nose against Chan’s jaw and extends his reach in search of the honey sweetness of Chan’s throat. The jump of Chan’s pulse against Soonyoung’s tongue is different with every beat of his heart; it invites Soonyoung’s to match its rhythm.

Pushing the boundaries of their physical spaces, learning the lines and planes of each other’s bodies. They never tire of it; every day, something is new—hair cut shorter, muscles leaner, callouses rougher or bigger. Some days, fatigue is set deeper, shoulders stiff and hips less obedient. The curl of fingers against flesh and the shape of nails scratched into the skin leave different pictures despite the routine nature of the action.

“Okay,” Chan says, grabbing Soonyoung’s arm, “you have to tell me if you want to fuck or if you want to pull my shirt so out of shape that I’m gonna have to take it off anyway.”

Soonyoung laughs. It’s hoarse. “You’re a little comedian, you know that?” he says into Chan’s neck.

They separate, and that’s something that’s different every time, too, the replacing of atoms after they’ve been shared.

“I’m being serious,” Chan replies, but the grin on his kiss-swollen lips betrays his words.

Soonyoung shifts his weight onto his back.

“I think,” he says, “we should suck each other’s dicks and then cleanse our palates with whatever expensive food Jihoon’s decided we should eat.”

“Classy,” Chan says. “I like it.”

“Thanks. I thought of it all on my own.”

“So, you want to do it at the same time, or...?”

Soonyoung settles onto his back fully, heels dug into the sheets.

“Of course,” Soonyoung says. “Saves a bit of time, you know? Just in case the boys decide they want to rush.”

Chan shakes his head with a grin.

“I do have to agree that it has a bit more oomph to it that sucking dick doesn’t always have when you’re just grabbing my hair,” Chan replies.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Soonyoung grabs Chan’s waistband and starts tugging. “Let’s get these off before I rip them off.”

“You break it, you buy it.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll seriously tempt me into ripping your pants off just to see what it’d look like.”

“Alright, hyung, shut up before I shut you up myself.”

“I hope it’s with your dick!”

Neither of them bother with stripping all the way down. Soonyoung grips Chan’s thighs for dear life and Chan stretches his pretty, elastic mouth with impressive flexibility.

They make it on time for dinner with the rest of the boys. The food does wash out the taste of dick from Soonyoung’s mouth, but it doesn’t hurt his appetite for it one bit.


End file.
